


Don't Be Afraid

by TheMightyChipmunk



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Emotional Baggage, Horror, M/M, Mentions of Sex, Pennywise Is Not Gone Yet, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 15:48:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13193346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyChipmunk/pseuds/TheMightyChipmunk
Summary: Richie felt Eddie’s eyes shift to his own in the mirror and suddenly… Richie felt heavy, trapped. He couldn’t look away from Eddie’s eyes, those perfect eyes that in that moment weren’t familiar anymore. Richie had spent many a night at that point staring into the soft brown of Eddie’s eyes and this was not that. They were huge, wide, empty, and wrong and Richie couldn’t look away. He felt his breathing speed up as Eddie’s reflection started smiling.As the grin spread across his cheeks, so did a sickly white, paling his skin and making him look deathly.“Stop staring, you creep.”...Just as Richie thinks he'd moved on from that summer, just as he'd gotten his life somewhat back in order, he starts seeing something he never dreamed he'd have to again.





	Don't Be Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> this was all [jade's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable) idea, i have her to thank entirely 
> 
> based heavily off [this amazing post](http://ayyyymichele.tumblr.com/post/168611443957/neiboltreddie-because-im-area-is-one-of-my)

They were all pretty fucked up after the whole summer. Which, Richie supposed, was to be expected. You don’t just fight a fucking demon clown asshole without coming out a little bit of a different person, one with more than a couple broken edges. Richie felt like he had so many of those he could never find a comfortable place to rest. Every time he tried, something would push at him, threating to break skin and force him to bleed out. 

He found ways to distract himself, he was good at that. He laughed louder, always had music on, _hated_ being alone, even more than before. It worked, for a few years. He barely slept and he went through life in a bit of a haze, denial always on the tip of his tongue, but it worked. He got through. And in high school there was _alcohol_. And not only that, Richie hit a growth spurt. He grew six inches, got contacts, and his skin finally cleared up and, all of a sudden, girls looked twice at him. So then there was _sex_. And fuck, nothing distracted Richie like sex did.

But _then_ … then there was Eddie. Well, that’s dramatic. Eddie was always there, of course. In the back of Richie’s mind for as long as he remembered, there was Eddie. But for the majority of his life, Richie just knew Eddie as his best friend, the one person he told everything to. They went to each other when their nightmares were bad, when the scar on their palms ached too much to ignore, when their home lives were just too much to handle. It wasn’t just the bad stuff, either. When Richie got a good grade, or had a good joke to tell or just wanted to hang out with someone, he went to Eddie. It was easy, simple. They nagged on each other endlessly and argued more often than not, but no one made him laugh like Eddie did. No one made him _forget_ quite like Eddie did.

And then Eddie had to go and get all _hot_. It was just one summer he was gone, a few months spent at his aunt’s lake house in Virginia, but he came back looking _good_. He was all sunkissed and freckled, and he wouldn’t stop going on and on about a boy he met, a whirlwind summer romance that swept Eddie fucking Kaspbrak off his feet. Because oh yeah, that’s another thing Eddie came back as: GAY.

The losers were from a small town in Maine and Richie wasn’t a bigot or anything, but their town definitely wasn’t liberal enough to have any sort of positive sex education. So it wasn’t that Richie thought being gay was _wrong_ , he just never really thought about the possibility of having to deal with any kind of sexuality that wasn’t hetero. But now it was right in front of him. Looking hot as fucking hell and talking about giving his first blow job and Richie was _confused_. And it showed. He pulled back from Eddie a bit, fucked a lot of other girls, drank and smoked and lost himself in an embarrassingly stereotypical hedonism.

But as much as Richie’s best friend was Eddie, Eddie’s best friend was equally Richie. And it took Eddie about one week into Richie being an idiot for him to realize what was going on. Eddie was much more adult about it, marching up to Richie’s room one night, snatching a bottle of whiskey out of his hands and pushing him into the mattress, demanding his attention in more ways than one.

They started dating that night and Richie was… safe. For the first time in however many years, he could sleep a full night without waking up in a cold sweat. Because Eddie was always by his side. And for the next few months, it stayed that way. The persistent push and pull of Eddie’s waves were softening Richie’s broken edges, slowly but surely. He was _happy_ and maybe even just maybe, they all were starting to forget. There wasn’t anything to _deny_ when all of them were together, they laughed and they smiled and they fought and they loved and they weren’t afraid.

Maybe their happiness was what did it, the reverberation of their joy startling something in whatever was left of It, sending echoes of fear and hatred right back at them. It was the Taoists, right? Who believed in balance, that when something goes way up it must go way back down again? Richie was starting to believe that.

The first time he saw it was the night after Homecoming. He and Eddie had gone to the stupid dance together, wearing matching pink suits and dancing the night away as a _fuck you_ to every homophobe at their school, and of course Richie had ripped it off of him the second they got back to Eddie’s room. He’d shoved Eddie playfully back onto his pillows and reveled in Eddie’s laughter, letting it go straight to his head as he absolutely _worshipped_ the boy.

They went for a long time that night, fucking each other’s brains out, and that was what Richie would blame it on. Pure exhaustion from fucking Eddie Spaghetti giving him hallucinations.

They were both in the bathroom, Eddie washing his face, leaning over the sink. Richie had been brushing his teeth, but he finished his bedtime routine way before Eddie, who was still a bit of a perfectionist when it came to stuff like that. So Richie had jumped up on the counter and started watching him, leaning against the mirror and letting his thoughts wander.

“Stop staring, you creep.” Eddie muttered as he started drying off his face and Richie laughed.

“Never.” He teased, poking Eddie in the side just to see him laugh again. He did, for a second, before turning back to the mirror, examining his face and searching for imperfections that literally only he could see. Richie jumped off the counter and moved behind him, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s waist and watching him in the mirror.

And Richie felt Eddie’s eyes shift to his own in the mirror and suddenly… Richie felt heavy, trapped. He couldn’t look away from Eddie’s eyes, those perfect eyes that in that moment weren’t familiar anymore. Richie had spent many a night at that point staring into the soft brown of Eddie’s eyes and this was _not_ that. They were huge, wide, empty, and wrong and Richie couldn’t look away. He felt his breathing speed up as Eddie’s reflection started smiling.

As the grin spread across his cheeks, so did a sickly white, paling his skin and making him look deathly.

“Stop staring, you creep.” The reflection said, a dark black tar staining his lips. Richie yelped and pushed away, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the pain that sang through his body as his back rammed in to the wall behind him ground him.

“Richie!” Eddie yelled in concern. Richie felt his hands on his face, heard him calling, but Richie was too scared to open his eyes. Too scared to see _that face_ again. That same one he saw so long ago on Neibolt, when he’d been fucking certain it meant that It had gotten Eddie, that he was _dead_. “Richie, it’s okay, you’re safe. It’s okay, please, open your eyes.”

Richie did, slowly and reluctantly. He sighed loudly when all he saw above him was his Eddie, brow furrowed and face red with nervousness. Richie smiled and relaxed back into the wall before pulling Eddie close to him.

“Fuck, I think I need to sleep, Eds. I’m starting to see things.” Richie explained and Eddie scoffed, like he didn’t really believe him. But when he pulled back to glare at Richie, he must’ve seen something in his eyes, something that told him exactly how much Richie did _not_ want to talk about this. So he cut him a break, grabbing Richie’s hand and pulling him back to bed. Eddie stayed close to him the whole night, not saying much but refusing to stop touching him, offering comfort, until long after both of them had fallen asleep.

###

The second time Richie saw it, he was walking the streets of Derry with Stan. The losers were supposed to be meeting at the quarry because it was the first day in a week that wasn’t rainy and Stan and Richie were supposed to bring the food. They’d gone to the convenience store, picked up a bunch of stuff for sandwiches and whatever else they wanted and now they were walking back, arguing about one of the questions on Mr. Stinson’s biology exam from the day before.

Richie was mid-sentence when they passed the old alley behind Keene’s Pharmacy. He was ranting about chromosomes when he saw the two figures shrouded by the dark. He trailed off his words, squinting his eyes to try and see better and-

“Oh _fuck_.” He whispered, because it was _Eddie_. Not his Eddie, of course, but the one from Neibolt again. And he was with… _him_. He was with Richie, the one he’d seen in that fucking coffin in that _fucking_ clown room…

What the fuck was going on. Richie took a step towards the alley, trying to see what was happening. And he saw Eddie push Richie hard against the brick wall, slamming him loud enough that Richie heard a sickening _crack_. Richie saw his own head ricochet forward from the force and then a thick stream of blood fell down the bricks where his younger self rested against the wall. Eddie smiled and reached into his pocket, his head twitching to the side in consideration as he pulled out a needle and thread. He reached up to other Richie’s jaw, keeping his head still as he began to sew his lips together, one long stroke after another. Other Richie twitched slightly but otherwise didn’t move, just staring down at Eddie with wide, lifeless eyes.

Richie felt himself gasp but for some reason he took one more step forwards, not away but instead _closer_ to the nightmare unfolding in front of him. This made the young Eddie turn his head in a quick, snappy motion. Richie’s heart was practically beating out of his chest as that _thing_ stared at him, starting to smile again. God, he fucking _hated_ that smile.

“He’s much better like this,” he said, dragging a hand up other Richie’s shirt and gripping the fabric, exposing his pale and rotting abdomen, eyes never leaving Richie’s. He was whispering but despite the space between them, Richie could hear him as if he was right next to him. “Don’t you think?” he asked, before tugging once hard on the string, making other Richie tumble forwards into him slightly. Richie felt his stomach roll and he was at a real risk of throwing up right there on the road as he saw dark blood drip down other Richie’s chin, staining his blue shirt.

But then Eddie put out his other hand, crooking a finger and beckoning Richie to him and… since when in his fucking life was he ever able to say no to any incarnation of Eddie? He walked forward, vision tunneling and-

“Jesus, Richie!” he heard Stan call out, grabbing his arm and pulling him back onto the sidewalk, “What the _fuck_ are you doing? Are you insane?” he sounded panicked and when Richie snapped his eyes to his friend, his face was pale white.

“I just, um… I thought I saw something.” Richie gulped and Stan stared at him like he’d lost his mind.

“Richie, you almost walked out into traffic! You could’ve killed yourself!” Stan scolded, voice shaking. Richie looked back at the road and the cars passing by and swore they weren’t there a moment ago. His eyes moved back to the alley and this time nothing was there.

He didn’t know if he was thankful for that.

“I’m sorry, Stan, really, I just got distracted.” Richie said, trying not to make it too obvious that his knees were about to buckle. These hallucinations were really getting out of hand. Stan looked at him for a long moment, dark eyes searching.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Stan asked softly and Richie nodded. But looking into Stan’s eyes, Richie _knew_ Stan knew he was lying. Richie was pretty sure Stan knew exactly what he was seeing, exactly what he was feeling. He knew Stan had come out of everything as fucked up as the rest of them and something in him whispered that it was worse for Stan, that It’s grasp sunk deeper into the boy than any of them knew.

He made a vow to ask him about it, to tell him Richie was always there when he needed to talk. He would do that. He just needed to wait until he got _that_ Eddie’s face out of his head.

###

Richie repeated to himself that it was just a hallucination, like a mantra in his head. He told himself over and over again that it would go away, that he would stop seeing it walking past him in the halls, standing behind him in the bathroom, would stop catching glimpses of him in his own boyfriend. It was starting to piss him off, how he was always on edge, waiting for it to show up and ruin his fucking mood. He was barely sleeping, too, and he was just generally pretty shitty to be around.

But he couldn’t make himself tell anyone, couldn’t make himself ask for help. They’d think he was crazy. It’d been _years_ since that summer, why the fuck was he still suffering backlash from it?

He went back to his usual methods of coping: smoking, drinking, and fucking. This night he had done the second of the three. He’d gotten blackout drunk on some cheap vodka he’d stolen from his dad and then scaled Eddie’s window, collapsing into his bed and cuddling up close to his boyfriend. Eddie groaned and rolled over onto his back.

“Richie? Jesus, is that you? You smell like you came straight from a fucking distillery.” He complained. Richie just smiled and nuzzled in close to him. Eddie sighed and threw his arm around him. “Okay, asshole, I guess you can sleep here.”

“Thanks Eds.” Richie sighed before closing his eyes and drifting off.

He fell asleep fast, almost as if something wanted him to… or maybe it was because he was drunk off his ass, either way. He knocked the fuck out.

When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in Eddie’s room anymore. He was at Neibolt, the house just as decrepit and horrifying as he remembered. His legs walked inside without his permission, pulling him forwards despite his strong desire to run the other fucking way. He heard voices as he walked through the front door, and when he looked to his right he saw… him. It was him and Bill and Eddie, thirteen years old and freaking out about a missing poster strung up in the cobwebs. Richie wanted to walk over to them, warn them to get the fuck out of that house, it wasn’t worth it to keep looking, but he couldn’t. He walked up the stairs instead and he saw them again. He saw his younger self and a younger Bill walking down the hallway, but instead of staying with them, he was stuck by Eddie’s side, watching them walk away, ignoring the hoarse cries Eddie threw after them. He saw the boy turn around slowly, saw his face transform in terror as a leper loomed over him. He saw him _fall-_

“Eddie!” Richie yelled out, reaching for the boy as he fainted backwards, falling out of sight. He forced himself to take a step forward and he fell too, but he landed on his feet. Eddie was passed out on the broken kitchen table and Richie wanted to move forward, help him, _comfort him_ , but he couldn’t. Richie was pushing and pulling against an invisible force that kept him back.

Eddie woke up with a start, gasping loudly and staring down in horror at his mangled arm. Richie gagged himself at the sight of it, remembering the sound of Eddie’s cries as he’d sat in Mike’s bike, every bump and turn agonizing for him.

And then… _that fucking clown_. It climbed right out of the fridge in just the most _extra_ way possible and Richie screamed. He screamed and he screamed and his fingers itched for a bat, his soul called out for his friends, but there was _nothing_. Nothing he could do but watch as Pennywise leaned towards the love of Richie’s life, unhinged his jaw and opened wide, wide, wide-

Richie startled, sitting up straight in Eddie’s bed and gasping for breath.

“Richie?” Eddie’s scratchy voice called out next to him. Richie collapsed back into the pillows and Eddie called out to him again, “Are you okay, baby?” he asked and Richie squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fight the nausea that was swelling in his stomach.

“Yeah, I’m fine, Eds… just-” Richie reached for Eddie with his eyes closed and found him, grabbed his arms and swung him so that he was on top of him, holding him tight.

“It’s okay, Rich, I’m here.” Eddie said, and Richie felt him run his hands through his hair soothingly. Richie tilted his head to find Eddie’s lips and sighed loudly when he felt them kiss his, tried desperately to lose himself in everything that was Eddie. Richie ran his hands up his boyfriend’s thighs, groaning as Eddie slipped his tongue against Richie’s own, but then he started slightly when he felt something dripping down his chin. Was Eddie _drooling_ on him?

He brought one hand to his mouth, leaving the other on Eddie’s thigh but then he noticed _that_ felt wrong too, colder, somehow. Richie touched his chin and felt something sticky, something like _tar_.

He pulled away from Eddie with a yelp, but strong hands gripped his and pushed them into the pillows behind him. Richie screamed when he opened his eyes and saw that _thing_ again, but this time it wasn’t thirteen year-old Eddie with a rotting face and evil eyes, it was… it was _his Eddie_. His Eddie now, with a sharper jaw line and less baby fat and a tongue piercing, he knew, it was _his Eddie._

But not. His face was now blotchy white and his mouth was leaking that fucking black gunk shit and he was _strong_. Richie squirmed, trying to get out from underneath him but the thing just laughed and leaned in close.

“What, you don’t want me anymore, Rich?” Eddie crooned, pouting his bottom lip out, “Come on, baby, it’s just me. I’m just like him.” He whispered right into Richie’s ear. Richie shivered despite himself and fake-Eddie laughed softly before licking the shell of Richie’s ear in one slow motion. Then he ground his hips down, hard against Richie’s. Richie groaned loudly, both in pleasure and horror at that very feeling.

“ _Stop_.” Richie forced out, somehow making noise push past the frog in his throat. Fake-Eddie tensed above him and growled, gripping Richie’s wrists even harder than before.

“Richie, please. Just say you’ll stay with me. You don’t want me to be alone, do you?” he asked, voice somehow soft and pleading even as it grated against his skin, his breath cold and chilling on the side of Richie’s face, “You can float with me-” he started but Richie snapped, jerking against his arms and yelling out.

“Fuck, _no_! You’re not him, you’re not Eddie, get the fuck off of me!” he yelled, even thought it hurt his chest to see Eddie’s face fall like that, to see heartbreak spell all over his features.

“You’re an idiot,” Fake Eddie hissed, face shifting from heartbreak to anger in one terrifying moment, “You’re useless. _Worthless_. You think you’ll be able to stop me? To save yourself or any of them? You won’t. He’ll die and it will be all. Your. _Fault_.” Eddie shifted his hand and Richie cried out as he felt the thing’s thumb nail drag across his palm, reopening the scar that had been left there for years. He looked over at the bright red spilling from his palm and screamed again in pain before-

“Richie, wake up, please, wake up!”

Richie’s eyes snapped open and he scrambled up, immediately taking in Eddie’s worried face and jumping out of bed. Was this another dream? Was It going to come after him again? What the _fuck was happening?_

“Richie,” Eddie said gently, kneeling next to him on the floor. Richie didn’t even remember falling to his knees but apparently he had. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried to stop hyperventilating. He looked at Eddie with wide eyes as the boy reached out for his hand, “‘Chee… you’re bleeding.”

Richie looked down at his palm, saw the vivid red staring back at him like a slap in the face. This time he really was going to vomit.

“Oh fuck.” He whispered, brokenly, “It’s _real_.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading, i don't think i've ever written anything like this before so i really hope you liked it!!!
> 
> come tell [me on tumblr](http://themightychipmunk.tumblr.com/) if you hated it or loved it or whatever just come say hi or leave a comment either way i cry from happiness


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